Dead On The Floor
by The Hermione Granger Fan Club
Summary: "I remember Eva, dead on the floor." Apparantly, Max, so does Lydecker. What was he thinking as he saw the deaths of three X5 females- an Example, a Matryr and a Hero?


I gaze in rage at the little girl lying on the floor. Her grey shirt is beginning to darken red with blood. She is the first X5 female ever to die.   
  
No, that's not right. She is the first X5 female to be killed. I shot her with the gun in my hand.   
  
And, yes, that's the first X5 FEMALE. Her brother 417 was given a lethal injection awhile ago after his seizures worsened and he was removed from the group. It almost pained me to see him that way... lying there, his eyes open, not blinking, barely breathing. A living corpse. He did not die an honourable death. He was the Mistake.   
  
766 lies on the floor, her features set it shock. She is the Example I have made. My mind almost broke down the seconds that the bullet tore into her flesh, killing her instantly. Her face registered a grim determination, then shock, then unspeakable pain. I knew, somehow, that she wouldn't fire the gun at me. I am her God. To kill me is to kill everything she knows.   
  
I look at the others. And all of them- these incredibly powerful people- are looking at me with a hatred and a fear unlike any I have ever seen before. They loved her. I know it. I have always taught them that there is no such thing as love, but they somehow managed to find it in each other.   
  
The CO, X5-599, is glaring at me. 452's mouth hangs slightly open, her dark eyes staring in horror at the gun on the floor, and at 766's dead body. The gun is reflected in her eyes. I can tell that she never wants to pick one up again.   
  
Their faces reflect the grief I know so well. She's gone, their eyes mourn. She's gone forever.   
  
599's eyes harden evermore. And you took her from us, his eyes seethe. You took her from us like you took our brother.   
  
For a second time stands still.   
  
Then there is a scream of rage and they dive forward as one, beating and kicking out at my men, knocking them swiftly to the floor in a sea of unbridled rage. 599 tosses 452 a machine gun but she drops it to the floor like it has burned her. 701 goes to pick it up but the boy who follows her around like a puppy, 711, yells, "Leave it!" and they're running down the hall, they turn a corner and they're gone.   
  
My men are picking themselves up, groaning and rubbing at various wounds. Aghast, I hear the smash of glass.   
  
My men and I swarm into a nearby hall to find a huge window shattered. One X5, the one known as 798, stands at the window, gazing after the retreating forms of her brothers and sisters into the forest. Her face is filled with sadness and regret.   
  
There is no time for such things. I tap one of my men on the shoulder, snap my fingers and point at 798. He escorts her from the hallway.   
  
As I order the troops as to what to do and frantically wrack my brains as to any place the X5s might have run to, I briefly picture what would have happened had I spared 766's life.   
  
I imagine her standing there, her mouth the same line of concentration, firing point-blank into my men. Over and over again. Slowly, the others would have caught on and run into the crowd, taking out the ones still standing. Firing again into the ceiling, they would have still gotten away. There was no point. 766 was a necessary obstacle.   
  
Why am I beginning to cringe as I remember her body on the floor? The shocked expression on 452's face, the cold way 599 stared at me, like a judge and hury condemning me to Hell.   
  
She was the objective. Wasn't that reason enough?  
  
* * *   
  
I wonder sometimes whether seeing one's creations as nothing more than lifeless... objects gets any easier the more times you see it. This time it's 656, or as she called herself, Tinga. I admit to shock, and even a terrible sadness as she lies in 452's arms.   
  
They both grew up beautiful, didn't they? All part of the project. I remember her as a child- even with that instututional crew-cut, she still managed to be an attractive child. She didn't really stand out, anyhow- I knew they'd all grow up perfect-looking. We mapped their basic face structures at the beginning of the project. Tinga was one of the first, being the oldest X5 female in the bunch.   
  
We kept progress reports. At first I trusted only myself to lead the discussion as we watched the kids train through a one-way mirror. I studied Tinga's every move- the way she angled her wrists as she hit out at a sparring partner, the way she placed her feet, her every facial expression. I did for all of them, as a way of being involved in their development. I had to give it up as they got older and I got more and more involved in Manticore. But it was those afternoons, noting every moment that she'd sneak a look at another female and giggle, that I felt as if I knew them as more than a commanding officer.   
  
All she needed to command the attention of the other girls and boys was a look in their direction. It's been brought up that the X5s communicate on some kind of higher level. They didn't need speech. I remember the time when the Mistake, X5-417, nearly drowned in the pool when we were testing lung capacity. Just before he ran out of air, my little favourite, Max and the CO, Zack, exchanged a look. I was frustrated at him- what the mind can concieve the body can achieve, I'd always said to them. I kept him down there as Zack tried to free him. Foolish kids.   
  
Tinga, the Martyr, lies motionlessly in Max's arms. Veins stand out alarmingly on her skin, which is reduced to an ashy grey. Max sobs. "Tinga, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Tinga..."  
  
I forget myself. "Max," I say in concern, stepping toward her.   
  
She looks at me with venom and leaps into the air with a roar of rage. I suddenly hear the X5s' screams on the night I shot their sister Eva. For I know her name now, the Example. Eva. For Max, it's Eva all over again. Another treasured human being that Manticore has taken from her.   
  
Max is tasered and falls to the floor, wildly twitching. She faints.   
  
And Tinga is zipped into a body bag and carried out, for testing and dissection and God knows what else.   
  
* * *   
  
The man Logan Cale sobs over Max's body. I stop, gazing down for a second. It's night, and there are X7s loose in these woods. And I do say loose because they are more animal than human- true killing machines. I've seen them kill in their brief training like the anomalies- coldly, without emotion. They look docile, but they're tough, and could survive for years with only the clothes on their backs.   
  
I remember the first time I ever held her. I insisted, you see, on holding each soldier once before they became nothing but drones to me. She'd been screaming ear-shatteringly loudly, which was a surprise. They seemed to get fiestier every birth.   
  
Zack had just stared intensely at me after he was born, in no hurry to get washed or fed but only to examine the man who would become his anti-Christ.   
  
Zane frowned at the sight of me and touched my face, and so did Tinga, although she began to cry quietly, as though she knew that I and all I stood for would have a major part in her own death.   
  
Ben simply looked bewildered as a newborn, a subtle hint as to his later obsession with being able to explain everything around him.   
  
Some began to try and fight as soon as they were born, like Brin or Jace or Jondy, who wriggled in my arms. I remember Brin, flailing her tiny feet uselessly. I laughed. Brin was the only one I spoke to until Max. "Good soldier, 734. Manticore commends you."  
  
Others, like Eva or Krit or Jack, simply gazed at me with fear.   
  
With Max, I said to her, sadly, "You have my wife's eyes." Then she was whisked away.   
  
But Max, who lies before me in her lover's arms, the Hero, screamed more loudly than any X-series I'd ever seen. A sign, surely, that she would never be silenced.   
  
Until now. For another X5 female lies dead at my feet. I check for a pulse.   
  
Nothing.   
  
"She's gone," I tell him firmly, trying not to look at her. She is Eva, she is Tinga. She is all herself. She is another soul from Manticore that is only body now.   
  
Logan says with purpose, "I'm going to get her back inside."  
  
In that place? They wouldn't let them leave. "No."  
  
"They can fix her up in there," he says, near hysterical.   
  
I steel myself. "Listen, I know how you feel, son, but you've got to let her go." I abruptly knock Logan out with the handle of my gun and drag him back to the SUV.  
  
Krit and Syl stand waiting. "They got Zack," says Krit breathlessly.   
  
"Max?" asks Syl swiftly.   
  
"K.I.A. Let's move out," I say, and we bundle inside to drive away and leave my first perfect soldier, Zack and my little favourite, Max, to the mercy of my allies, my enemies.   
  
The brave young woman with my wife's eyes is gone.  
  
Syl stares out of the window, her light eyes set in sadness, mirroring the girl who shot her brother and saw another dragged to his death and the girl who saw a sister gunned down right before her eyes. The girl who is now a woman and is experiencing that all over again. Another brother and sister of hers are gone.   
  
"Suck it up, soldier," I say sharply as she begins to sob. "Soldiers don't cry. They take it like adults and move on."  
  
Krit gives me an evil look and sits by his sister, talking so quietly to her that no Ordinary human could hope to hear. He loves her, I can tell.   
  
I am not a part of this scene. I am not a part of their family.   
  
I drive and try to block out the soft but steady sound of Syl weeping, not only for Max and Zack but probably for the boy in the forest, Danny, and for Eva the Example and Jack the Mistake and Tinga the Martyr. She didn't get to cry when they left her for all time.   
  
And neither, as their killer and their anti-Christ and their God, will I.   
  
* * * * *  
  
DISCLAIMER: 'Dark Angel' belongs to James Cameron and Fox. Not me. So don't sue. 


End file.
